Life goes on.

As one might expect, the holiday season did not slow down for our family just because we had a baby.  We had basketball games, ballet performances, concerts galore and a bit of fun mixed in.  Here are the pics to prove it:

Our first Christmas gift.

3 o'clock in the morning on December 2nd and suddenly I could no longer sleep through the contractions I'd been having since, oh, first trimester.  I began timing my contractions using an iPad app and got up to get stuff done.  Tim opted to stay home since there was a good chance we'd be having a baby that day and he's near impossible to reach at work.  I puttered around the house, my contractions 10-15 minutes apart until about noon, when the range was between 5-8 minutes apart.  Though my contractions were painful, requiring that I employ my best Bradley technique exercises, they were irregular, and, having had false labor with three of my four children, I lingered at home not wanting to get sent home from the hospital because it wasn't "the real deal".  By one o'clock, though, I was doubled over in pain, but my contractions were still not the 5 minutes apart I'd been advised were necessary to head to the hospital(I'd been through this whole labor thing how many times?  You'd think I'd know better).  So I said a little prayer asking Heavenly Father to please make it obvious when I was to go to the hospital.  My next two contractions were 3 minutes apart.  Off we went.

We got to the hospital, settled into a room, was attached to a monitor for 3 contractions, cervix checked(I was dilated to a 5, only one centimeter more than I had been the day before at my OB visit). I asked them how soon I could get an epidural(I was already done with the whole laboring thing and, having had three unmedicated labors decided that I was too old and tired to do it again).  They told me to walk around for 45 minutes and they'd check me again, admit me to the hospital(wait, what?), and administer an epidural at that point.  Remember how I was doubled over in pain with each contraction?  Worst news ever.

We paced the halls for a few, then filled the prized jetted tub which I had never before enjoyed because my babies had come before I could set foot in them.  Wow was that an experience for which I was grateful!  It was divine(if any part of labor can be considered so).  The nurse checked me again, dilated to a seven and said dumbly, "Okay, we can admit you now and get an IV started for your epidural."  P.S. I have nothing against nurses in general but, to be honest, they are not all created equal.

The ensuing 45 minutes entailed three pokes for an IV, one poke for an epidural, many agonizing contractions and the inevitable failure of the epidural to take effect before having to push(which is the part that freaks me out and which I was hoping I could dodge this time around).  I should have known better.

So I felt every stinkin' bit, bringing my grand total (of natural labors) to four.  And I didn't even get the luxury of not having an IV, getting up and walking immediately after delivery.  But really, what does all that matter when you get to greet this bundle of deliciousness?  All six pounds fourteen ounces of him.

Instant love, I tell you.  Welcome to the world, Jack.

Down to the wire.

Last month of pregnancy and I felt great.  It was time to cram in a few last minute to-do's.  Like an EEG for Lily, where we discovered she is no longer having seizures.  A relief, to say the least, although she's not completely out of the woods.

Our car battery needed replacing, the dishwasher broke, I took out someone's bumper in the church parking lot (my car is such a beast that a minor swipe took out an entire bumper while my car sustained nary a scratch - go figure).

We attending Lily's school Veteran's Day program - makes me tear up every stinkin' time... and that's not the pregnancy hormones talking.

Next came Rachel's birthday.  Our future engineer got, among other things, a circuit set, which provided indoor entertainment for weeks.  Sadly, the magic has already worn off somewhat (I'm writing this in January).

Afterward: Thanksgiving break - full art projects, ornament making, playing games and cooking, of course.  Each kid got to pick a dish to "make" and I was pleasantly surprised by their self-sufficiency in the kitchen.  We broke out my Grandma's china and voila - my first Thanksgiving meal made entirely by our little Egbert family.  But mostly me, let's be honest.

Is this what a napkin is for, mom?

We're still working on table manners around here.

The day after Thanksgiving is for setting up the Christmas tree, naturally.  We decorated it, took a few pictures and bam!  We're ready to have a baby.  Let's do this.

Oh, baby!

After three miscarriages, I was done.  Done!  What was the point of getting pregnant if there was no baby at the end of it?  I grieved a bit, but in the end was grateful for the four wonderful girls with which I had been blessed and was ready to move on.  Over it.  Still, certain birth control methods didn't make sense for us so we used the less-reliable ones which inevitably resulted in more pregnancies.  Three more, in fact.  Two of which, predictably ended in miscarriage.

April rolled around this year and my period was late.  I didn't have any pregnancy tests sitting around (I was done, remember?) so I waited...started to feel queasy, began going to bed at 9:00, and decided to bite the bullet and take a test, even though I already knew the answer.  I didn't even make a doctor's appointment.  What would be the point?  But of course, hope springs eternal and with each day of sickness I knew that this time was different.  I became grateful for my misery, because it meant that my body was doing what it was supposed to.

Finally, twelve weeks into my pregnancy, with no bleeding or cramping to speak of, I made an appointment to see my doctor.  Sure enough, that first ultrasound revealed a healthy fetus and strong heartbeat, something I hadn't seen in quite some time.  It was exhilarating.  But the trepidation lingered and I marched on, not announcing my pregnancy to most people until we had our second ultrasound at 20 weeks.

Our theory was that my body simply can't carry boys and that my five miscarriages had been boys.  Imagine our shock when the ultrasound tech blurted out that this baby was, in fact, a boy.  Huh?  A boy was not even on our radar.  Our heads started spinning.  We barely paid attention to the rest of the ultrasound.  Until the perinatologist came in later to announce that our baby boy(crazy!) had one or two markers for Down's syndrome. 

Her face and tone were so grave - I felt as if she were declaring him dead on the spot.  It was weird, really.  She started recommending a bunch of tests... "To which end?", we inquired.  It's not as if any outcome is going to change our actions.  She persisted.  "You can get some simple blood work done that may give us a better indicator of the odds of his having Down's syndrome.  Then, given the results of the blood work, we could pursue further testing (amniocentesis) to confirm a diagnosis."  Again, we didn't quite see the point, but went ahead with the blood work since it was something that could be done right then in the office.

Do you have any idea how much blood work costs?  In this case, almost $3000!  Seriously?  To get a less than diagnostic analysis for a few chromosomal disorders?  What a racket.

I can see where the perinatologist was coming from.  She deals with high-risk pregnancies, she confronts a variety of patients and wants to ensure that they know ALL the options available to them.  I did a little bit of homework upon returning home from this memorable ultrasound experience and discovered that approximately 67% of babies diagnosed with Down's Syndrome in utero are aborted.  Sad.  That's where the doctor is coming from.  For us, it changed nothing.  We got the blood work and had a good week to sit on the information until results came back.

Here's what happened.  By the end of the week, I was almost hoping for a kid with Down's syndrome.  Having grown up with five brothers, I know the potential for absolute insanity.  I don't mean to minimize the gravity of Down's, or the resulting challenges it would present to have a child with it, but I do recognize the joy that having a visibly "impaired" child in the home would bring.  They are tender souls.  It would be a sweet, sweet experience, in spite of (and because of) the difficulty.  Recent years have taught me to "come what may, and love it."  I rarely harbor bitterness when confronted with a trial anymore...what would be the point?  It's an opportunity to learn and grow and become.  If we had a child with special needs, I would consider it a blessing.

The blood work came back.  Negative.  Pretty much zero percent chance that our son has Down's.  Relief?  Maybe a little.  But it just means my trials are coming later.  And they'll probably be much harder.

We are thrilled at the prospect of a new baby in our home.  The timing was not.at.all what I would have chosen.  But, oh what a blessing!  Aside from a miserable first 16 weeks, I have had a fantastic pregnancy.  At 37 weeks now, I still glance in the mirror and am surprised to see a basketball around my midsection.  Most of the day, I forget that I've got what had (the last four times) felt like a parasite growing inside of me - he's been so kind to my aging body.  Mostly I'm just grateful at the tremendous gift it is to bear children, a feeling of awe that is more poignant having had a glimpse at the "loss" that so many women endure as they encounter various degrees of infertility.  I'm not sure why the Lord sees fit to bless me so abundantly.  But I certainly am grateful.

Another Halloween in the books.

Candy, candy and more candy.

Fall...er, I mean perpetual indian summer.

Autumn was blissful this year - unseasonably warm, warranting a visit to the pumpkin patch (a once every three years sort of event for our fam).  Eve got to go to the Farmstead with her first grade class while I tagged along.

Then we made it a family affair to hit up Linder Farms.  The weather was wonderful, the donuts delicious and the girls were happy.  Me?  I was lamenting the ridiculous price tag for lame rides.  Whatev.  Like I said, the girls were happy, right?

Later that night Tim and I ditched the kids for a delayed celebration of our anniversary.  We relived our very first date (15 years ago) by attending a Idaho Opera's performance of Mozart's Magic Flute.  Once we got past the fact that it was performed in English (gasp!) we truly enjoyed it.  Love Mozart and love my man.